Phillip Margolin - Ties That Bind

The dirt road was bounded by a row of neatly planted bushes, which Gregaros could barely see in the dark. When he drove past them, the road curved. He turned the car around so it was facing downhill, and parked. His gun was on the passenger seat, concealed under a magazine. He got it and walked up the road to the meadow, then moved into the cover of the trees. When he reached the edge of the copse, he stood behind a tree trunk and watched.

Bennett had stopped on the edge of the ravine. Kerrigan's car was beside her car, with the length of two parking spaces between them. Gregaros saw Kerrigan walk up to Bennett's open window. He was carrying a briefcase with the money that the judge had provided. Bennett said something. Stan could hear her but he couldn't make out her words. Kerrigan opened the briefcase, closed it, and placed it in the back seat of Bennett's car. When Kerrigan closed the rear door, he turned, so his back was blocking Gregaros's view of Bennett, but the detective heard Kerrigan demand the tape. Bennett spoke, and Kerrigan stuck out his left hand and then placed something in the left-side pocket of his coat. The DA's right hand went into his right-side pocket, and he shoved his arm in the driver's window. The muzzle flash from Kerrigan's gun illuminated the inside of Bennett's car for a second. Bennett screamed and blood sprayed across the window. Kerrigan pulled the trigger twice more. Bennett slumped sideways and disappeared from view.

Kerrigan grabbed the briefcase with the money, ran to his car, and returned with a gas can. After splashing the gasoline around the interior of Bennett's car, Kerrigan flipped in a match. He staggered back as the interior of the car lit up. Gregaros stepped out of the trees. Kerrigan was so intent on his task that he didn't hear him. Instead, he leaned forward, rested his hands on his knees, and dry-heaved several times.

"Good work."

Kerrigan leaped back, startled.

"It's me, Stan."

Kerrigan sagged from relief. Gregaros looked into the car. Blood had spattered across the inside of the windshield. Bennett's legs and lower body were still on the edge of the driver's seat, but her upper body was sprawled face-down across the passenger seat as if she'd been twisting away from Kerrigan when he shot her. Blood pooled under her head and torso, and flames raced through her hair and across her hands. Her clothes and the upholstery were on fire. Gregaros smelled flesh burning. He pulled back because of the heat.

"Give me the gun," Gregaros said.

"Let's get out of here before the car explodes," Kerrigan answered, eyeing the flames anxiously.

Gregaros held out a plastic Ziploc bag. "The gun."

Kerrigan pulled it out of his pocket and dropped it in the bag.

"And the tape."

Kerrigan took it out of his left-side pocket and handed it over.

"You did good," Gregaros said. "The judge will be proud of you."

Kerrigan didn't answer. Even in the dark, the detective could see that the prosecutor was ghost-white. He knew exactly how Kerrigan was feeling. He'd felt sick after his first face-to-face kill. The second hadn't bothered him at all.

Kerrigan ran to his car and Gregaros trotted back through the woods. Kerrigan drove by while Stan was getting into his car. Gregaros headed back toward town. Moments later, an explosion in his rearview mirror lit up the night sky.

Chapter Forty-Six.

At five in the morning Stan Gregaros knocked loudly on the door to Harvey Grant's bedroom and entered without waiting for an invitation.

"What's going on?" Grant asked as he groped for his glasses.

"We have a problem."

"Is Bennett still alive?"

"No, she's dead. Kerrigan did just fine." Gregaros put the plastic bag with the murder weapon on Grant's end table. "He got the tape, too, but I didn't trust Bennett when she promised to turn over all of the tapes Dupre made at the fund-raiser, so I sent two men to Dupre's safe house after Bennett left. They were supposed to get everything out of his safe and bring it to me. They emptied the safe but someone shot them and took the bag with the tapes."

"What do you mean, someone shot them? Were they waiting for them? Do we have a leak?"

"I don't know, but I don't believe in coincidences. I think Jaffe knows about the tapes."

"Amanda Jaffe?"

Gregaros nodded. "Pedro's men made it to one of our doctors, and he called me. They told me that the shooter was a woman. Amanda Jaffe's investigator is very good with a gun. I showed them a snapshot. They identified her right away."

Grant paced back and forth across his bedroom. This was a very serious situation. No one knew what Dupre had recorded. Jaffe could be in possession of evidence that would destroy everything Grant had taken a lifetime to build.

If she was still investigating Dupre's case aggressively, she would go after the police reports in Delgado's murder and the murders at the drug house. Those reports contained the only clue to the identity of the original members of The Vaughn Street Glee Club--the names of the boys who were with Wendell Hayes on the evening that Wendell took three guns from his father's locked gun cabinet.

"Get Castillo on this right away," Grant said. "I want that bag and I want Jaffe dead."

"I'll call him on the road."

"Where are you going?"

"McCarthy paged me on the way over here. He wants me at Bennett's crime scene."

"Why?"

"No idea."

"You don't think he knows you were there, do you?"

"I don't see how he could. I'll tell you what's going on later."

The sun was just coming up when Stan Gregaros parked behind one of several police cars at the Bennett crime scene. Two men from the lab were making casts of a tire track, and two uniforms charged with keeping gawkers away were shooting the breeze, because no civilians had made the trek to the murder scene yet. Wisps of smoke hung in the air over the burned-out hulk of Ally Bennett's car, and an acrid smell similar to overcooked barbecue--typical of an arson murder--assailed Gregaros when he drew closer.

Sean McCarthy broke off a conversation with one of the forensic people when he spotted Gregaros.

"Hell of a way to start the day, huh Stan?"

"Hey, you know me. I love the smell of charred flesh first thing in the morning. To what do I owe this honor?"

McCarthy gestured toward the car. "We ran a trace on the plates. It belongs to Ally Bennett."

"She's one of Dupre's girls."

McCarthy nodded. "The body was badly burned, but it's female and fits Bennett's general description."

"Lori Andrews. Now Bennett."

"Don't forget Oscar Baron."

"You think the three murders are connected?"

"Two of Dupre's women and his attorney murdered so close together. What do you think?"

"Dupre is in jail. He couldn't have killed Baron or Bennett."

"That's why I called you out. You know all about Dupre's operation. Did he have a partner, someone who'd get rid of witnesses for him?"

"No. He was a loner. I . . ."

"Sean!"

The detectives turned. Alex DeVore was crossing the meadow followed by a heavyset man wearing a green uniform.

"This is Dmitry Rubin. He's with park maintenance. Dmitry made the 911 call last night."

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Rubin," McCarthy said. "I'm Sean McCarthy. This is Stan Gregaros."

"I just finished taking Mr. Rubin's statement. Tell them what you told me."

"I was driving back to the garage last night when I passed a car. What made me remember it was it was driving without headlights. It came out of nowhere. There could have been an accident."

"Can you describe it?" Gregaros asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Nah. I figured it was kids, you know, going up to the meadow to make out."

"Go ahead, Mr. Rubin," DeVore said.

"The explosion was a few minutes after. I pulled over when I heard it. Then I turned around and headed back. When I was halfway here, a car came barreling by."